The Cabinet of Dr Héderváry
by harinezumiko
Summary: My first ever fanfic, begun for 2009 NaNoWriMo. Dr. Elizabeta Héderváry runs an alternative clinic aiming to cure teenagers of depression using some slightly offbeat methods. No doubt some of her own personality quirks will be examined in the process...
1. Chapter 1

Warnings: Sexual themes, suggestive themes (steer clear if mental health is a trigger for you), human names, alternate universe, terrible writing

The Cabinet of Dr. Héderváry

**Chapter 1**

The promotional brochure for the clinic features a young girl, long black hair tied with red ribbons, smiling unreservedly for the camera. Her eyes are closed in bliss, and she clutches what appears to be a magazine. It may just be a trick of the light, but her knuckles appear white to me, arms unnaturally strained.

I put the pamphlet back on the ash desk, looking back up at the proprietor of the clinic, Dr. Elizabeta Héderváry. She sits aristocratically straight, hands folded in her lap, green eyes fixed solidly on whatever object occupies her attention, which is currently me.

I pick up my notebook, mainly to break the steady gaze as the digital recorder has been taking care of proceedings thus far, and pretend to make notes in a code of my own devising.

"The girl on the cover of the brochure," I indicate with my pen, "was she your first patient?"

"My first success." The correction is minimal, but alters the meaning entirely. I make a note to come back to this later in the interview. Dr. Héderváry continues with a smile. "Patient S. was brought to my attention two years ago, by her grandfather. Normally a bright and sociable child, she had become prone to bouts of depression and self-loathing, sometimes externalising her feelings through explosive anger."

I raise a hand. "Doctor, are you able to tell me this? Surely you have a duty of confidentiality to your patient?"

She waves dismissively. "S.'s grandfather agreed to waive that duty once S. had left this country. As the treatment was such a success, he saw the need to publicise my work so more can benefit. Of course, in the circumstances, I charged no fee."

I nod uncomfortably, with visions of a destitute old man being forced to agree to Dr. Héderváry's terms on presentation of a bill for six weeks' residential care and treatment, but allow her to continue. The press is hungry for details.

"On probing, S. confirmed she had been bullied since starting at a new school. She felt her peers viewed her as 'backwards'. One boy had essentially enslaved her, another was constantly trying to take advantage of her." Dr. Héderváry's cool, narrative tone slipped a little here, showing at least a tiny sliver of empathy for her patient's situation. "I pushed further on this point, but could not get S. to open up to me. I was convinced she had suffered sexual abuse, but was unable to treat her for something she would not confirm."

"So you tried another approach." My prompt is unnecessary, as if she has composed a script in advance, with pauses only to recall the next paragraph.

"Indeed. I wondered if she might respond instead to visual prompts. Patient S. was supplied with a selection of reading matter, comics with characters bearing similarities to herself and her schoolmates." Dr. Héderváry tosses a slim A4 document across to me, casually. A couple of pages in I can feel the colour starting to creep up my cheeks. I look up to see the doctor smiling, studying my embarrassment. I try to cover with a question. "Th-this is…"

She pats my hand gently, like a sister. "Erotica, yes. As you have so ably demonstrated, a quick way to provoke an involuntary emotional response. S. responded in much the same way at first."

I am compelled to explain. I am an adult male, and as such no stranger to pornography. However it is a private rite, not one to be shared – especially with a psychiatrist. The thought of such a woman observing the sacred bond between man and paper resulted in my over-reaction to her gambit.

Dr. Héderváry relents. "Anyway, I have videos of the treatment I can show you. Would you perhaps like a tour of the clinic in the meantime?" I confirm that seems an agreeable idea, and we stand to leave the office, the doctor first.

Away from the desk, she seems relaxed and cheerful. I follow her down long white corridors bathed in sunlight, highlights gleaming in her long brown hair. To the right, large square windows overlook the landscaped gardens of the estate in which the clinic is situated; to the left, doors that could as easily be to hotel guest rooms as to patient accommodation. She eagerly points out the communal lounge up ahead. Heads look up from no doubt risqué reading material as we enter.

Bay windows are open onto the lawns, heavy curtains still at each side like guardians. I ask Dr. Héderváry if she has any issues with security.

"Most people don't want to leave," she jokes, but I can believe it given the conditions. The place is like a country house hotel and spa. "Of course we have one or two more difficult patients, and we have specialised staff to deal with them, but we try not to encourage an 'us and them' attitude here. We all have our quirks, and coming here either as a patient or staff is about learning to deal with those."

She moves on, heading for the treatment rooms. I ask her what she would consider to be her own quirks.

"I have an unnatural interest in the lives of others," she slaps me on the back, laughing uproariously. It was a serious question, but it can wait.

The treatment rooms look much like Dr. Héderváry's own office: new, clean, hardwood furniture, a plushly upholstered chaise longue up against the wall, a lack of medical paraphernalia of any kind, just a small PC on the desk. The main difference is a lack of windows, I assume for privacy, although the room is well air-conditioned. "Please sit, Honda-san." She gestures to the chaise longue and I perch on the edge obediently.

She logs on to the PC, connecting it to a projector aimed at the blank wall to my left. I turn to get a better look. I would be more comfortable resting back on the chaise longue, but I am unwilling to put myself in such a submissive position with the doctor. I have a brief glimpse of a dark-haired man in glasses, clothes and hair askew and a distressed expression on his face, before the video opens. "My ex-husband," smiles Dr. Héderváry, as she presses play.

The video is, as promised, of the treatment of Patient S. She is about to lie down where I am sitting now, in this room or another I cannot be sure. I look over to the position of the camera; either it's not there now, or it's concealed. Dr. Héderváry explains. "I tape all my patient sessions, for their benefit as well as mine. The main reason, though, is professional. When you're dealing with a controversial therapy like mine, there will unfortunately be people who will make claims of unprofessional behaviour…" she shrugs. "I can prove nothing untoward happened."

"Are you recording us now?"

"Why, are you about to do something interesting?" she grins, and points back to the moving image on the wall.

The video opens with the usual pleasantries, Dr. Héderváry enquiring after S.'s health and welfare in the clinic. The young girl responds in few words and seems motionless. Dr. Héderváry explains this session will be slightly different, and hands S. a small stack of comics. The content is obvious not from the covers of the magazines, which appear blurry due to the poor resolution of the recording, but from S.'s reaction on opening the first. She has opened the comic at its central point, gasps, and hurls it away. Unperturbed, Dr. Héderváry places the offending object back within S.'s reach, and leaves, ostensibly to fetch a glass of water.

Some minutes pass, S. sobbing on the chaise longue. She seems to realise that the doctor is not about to return, and takes a hasty glance around the room before slowly reaching once more for the comic. She opens it, closes it again, hesitates for a while before beginning to read.

The door eventually opens and Dr. Héderváry returns, glass in hand. S. leaps up, grabbing the free hand of the startled doctor, and begins speaking volubly in a language in which I am regrettably not fluent. Dr. Héderváry explains: "S. tends to lapse into French when excited." S. is pointing repeatedly at panels in the manga. She is eventually persuaded to calm down and there the recording ends.

"I used a visual stimulus to encourage S. to free her own memories. It worked very well in her case, perhaps because she was young and not used to guarding her emotions."

"But you didn't stop there."

"Getting S. to admit to the situation was only the first step. Then she became treatable." Dr. Héderváry stops, looking at me intently. "You know, a really good way for you to understand the therapy would be for you to go through it yourself."

I stop her there, raising my hands. "I don't need therapy. I have no problems."

The gleam in her eyes demands I say differently. "I read your article endorsing 2D love last month. Nijigen complex, yes? Won't that be an interesting exploration for both of us?"

"I'm sorry, I…" I try to interrupt, but she's on fire now.

"Gonzo journalism! You'll never get another opportunity like this! Plus free bed and board. Come on, it'll be a riot!"

I give in, figuring I can work my way out of this one in the morning. "I can't promise anything. I have other commitments…"

That's apparently good enough for Dr. Héderváry. "Yes!" she exclaims, stopping just short of dancing round the desk to me. "Shake on it." She proffers a hand which I take reluctantly, only to have the life crushed out of mine. "Your handshake is so effeminate… I bet you're the _uke_." She grins almost evilly, watching the shock in my face. "You are! You so totally are!"

I extricate myself from her clutches, wondering how this situation had arisen, and the best way out of it without offending the other party. Dr. Héderváry is a conundrum to me now, an odd mixture of educated, well-bred carer and passionate, base masculinity. I agree to stay the night in the clinic, if only to try to solve this enigma the next day.

Recovering her composure, Dr. Héderváry shows me to my room. It's stylish and comfy. I note there is no telephone or other access to the outside world. She explains all communications are monitored, so I must approach her or one of the staff if I need to send in the day's work to the newspaper. "Dinner is at seven, the dining room is just off the lounge. We'll start with a consultation tomorrow morning." She winks conspiratorially. "Until then we're friends, okay?"

I nod, bewildered, and lock myself in my room until the bell sounds for dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

The Cabinet of Dr. Héderváry

**Chapter 2**

In keeping with Dr. Héderváry's instructions, staff and patients mix freely at dinner. It is a canteen-style format, with a choice of dishes, and long farmhouse-style tables set with cutlery, condiments and glasses. Wine is served for the adults. I decline, instead opting for iced water. I test the chicken curry and rice, and cannot help a small raise of the eyebrows as I find it surprisingly delicate.

Scanning around the benches, I note that the doctor is seated reassuringly far from me. I recognise a few faces from the lounge earlier in the day, and assume the younger set are the clientele with the remainder the staff. The two seem to fit well together.

I chew quietly, allowing the conversations to flow around me. There is talk of sports, of travel, of family. I could be attending some corporate function.

A tray slams down next to me, followed by a young-looking Asian male. He looks at me in surprise, before turning on a hundred-watt smile. "You're new! Hiiiii!" He stretches out his arms as if to hug me, and I instinctively pull back. His sleeves are too long and I point out that they will drop in the gravy.

"Oh, thank you…" He examines the droopy white sleeves and, once he has contented himself that they remain unsoiled, turns back to me. "Im Yong Soo. I'm a nurse here."

"My name is Honda Kiku. I am currently a resident."

"Really? You look a bit old… Not that you're, you know, a grandpa or anything, are you? It's just we normally get teenagers through here. Tried it myself once. The treatment, that is. Not being a grandpa. Or teenagers. Although I was that once."

Fortunately, the necessity to eat stems the verbal torrent. I relax in the momentary silence. It ends all too soon.

"So, you've met Doc, I take it? Elizabeta's a squishy little darling. You'll love her. Did you know I'm responsible for her breakthrough? She'd still be working with pills and music if it wasn't for me."

He pauses, smiling widely, evidently waiting for some kind of interjection from me. I find this odd as most of his questions so far have been entirely rhetorical. I settle for a non-committal "Oh?"

"Absolutely! If she hadn't found those magazines in my room…"

I see where this is going, and attempt to interrupt. "You are staff here? Could you point out to me the others?"

He pauses mid-flow, before diverting to the sidetrack. "Sure! I call us the Seven Dwarfs. I'm Happy, Elizabeta's Doc, of course, that's Sleepy over there – he's the porter," he points to a well-built individual with a mass of dark curls, his back to us, eating his dinner at the speed of paint drying. He reminds me of someone. "Grumpy and Grumpy over there are security. Grumpy One – the blonde – is in love with one of the patients here, and obviously he's powerless to do anything about it until he's better. It's so tragic." He clasps his hands and sighs to the heavens, before adding, "Grumpy Two's the patient's brother, and he can't stand Grumpy One. It's like this whole crazy thing… And then you've got Drunken and Pervy in the kitchen. You'll meet them later."

I raise a hand tentatively. "Um, that's not the seven dwarfs I remember…"

"Is it not? Ah well, maybe so. I like ours better anyway." He smiles again, eyes half-closed in laughter.

Yong Soo's description of the clinic staff did nothing to allay my fears. My visions of this place as a relaxing haven for a week of work were rapidly fading. Still, if it was as ramshackle an operation as it now appeared, perhaps I could run a good exposé piece.

"Do you know Dr. Héderváry well?" I inquire, given Yong Soo seems to be remarkably well-informed about the private lives of the other staff.

He frowns. "Doc doesn't talk much about herself. I mean, something must have pushed her into this line of work, but none of us really know what. She was married a while ago, no kids, divorce was pretty amicable. He still visits occasionally."

Recommending that I skip dessert today ("I'd avoid something called Spotted Dick if I were you"), Yong Soo invites me to a card game of his own devising in the lounge. I find it resembles American poker. The players besides the two of us are the chefs, Arthur and Francis. I wonder which is Drunken and which is Pervy. Arthur is a sore loser and throws in his cards in a huff after losing all his chips to Francis. Francis seems charming, sharing anecdotes of his home country, although keeping a careful eye on him I am convinced he pocketed a few cards while Yong Soo's attention was elsewhere.

I ask Francis how he finds working at the clinic. He appears the better cook of the two, and could surely find a position in a restaurant.

"Indeed, my cuisine is most divine. You are most fortunate I cook for you, no? Elizabeta invited me some years ago. I believe she thought she could help me to be a productive member of society, but Brother Francis, he does not play by such rules."

"To what rules do you adhere, then?"

"Ah, the pursuit of happiness, _un peu d'amour_… Come, let Brother Francis show you how a real man lives!"

He reaches out for me, almost salivating, as Yong Soo nudges the table, banging a solid wooden leg against Francis' shins. I recoil backwards, into the arm of Yong Soo.

"He already has a brother, Francis. I'm adopting him. URI NARA MANSAE!"

With that exclamation, Yong Soo powers off towards the bedrooms, propelling me along in front. I am shocked Dr. Héderváry permits such unstable characters on her staff. Indeed, I am unconvinced these are the staff, they seem less mentally sound than the few patients I have observed so far. At least I have learned which "dwarf" is Pervy.

"Don't worry about Francis too much. He's almost harmless. Dr. Héderváry keeps him around mainly so she knows where he is."

"Doesn't having a pervert like that on the staff undermine her work? How can a patient feel safe here?" Yong Soo deposits me in front of my room, and I shiver a little at the thought of what might have happened if he had not been present earlier.

"I think it's part of her scheme to celebrate diversity. She says we all have kinks. I suppose Francis's are a little more prominent than the rest of us." He scratches his head, as if he doesn't quite believe his own words. "You just have to learn to deal with him. In the meantime, you can call on big brother."

He smiles, and I faintly return it, mostly at the ludicrousness of this teenager calling himself my big brother. It seems he has a good heart, and I am growing to like him, even if he cannot respect silence. I wish him pleasant dreams, and retire to my room to pray for a quiet night.


	3. Chapter 3

The Cabinet of Dr. Héderváry

**Chapter 3**

I rise early to find the dining room empty and Arthur in charge of the kitchen. He seems calmer this morning, although the thick eyebrows give him a menacing air. I order an omelette and sit down to wait.

A few minutes later, a rotten smell drifts in from the kitchen, followed swiftly by the peal of the fire alarm. Sprinklers come on in the kitchen. Following emergency procedures I leave through the patio doors, assembling with the others – in varying states of wakefulness – in the garden. A quick headcount by Dr. Héderváry reveals the absence of Arthur. She rushes headlong into the building, returning a short while later with a smile.

"False alarm, everyone. Please go back to your rooms." She waits by the doorway, gently touching my arm as I pass. "Just a tip. If Arthur's serving, take the cold buffet."

The doctor must have awoken earlier than me, presentable as she is. She wears a skirt suit in black, with a soft orange jumper to match a flower clip in her hair. I wonder why she has hired a chef who can't cook. It is by no means the most contradictory thing about the clinic, just another anomaly in a whole catalogue.

"I'll see you at half past nine, if that suits you?" Dr. Héderváry asks. I had almost forgotten I had agreed to be her test subject. I have a feeling that what suits Dr. Héderváry must also suit the patient, and acquiesce. With luck the session will not be too revealing. If she just wishes to talk about my article, and show me some pictures, I can cope with that. And she's right. The best way to write about her therapy, whether it works or not, is to experience it first hand.

Duly resolved, I find my way to her treatment room at the appointed hour. The door is open. I knock, pushing it open a little, to find her already seated at her desk. She indicates the chaise longue. "Please, sit. How did you sleep, Honda-san?"

The truth is my dreams were troubled, full of predators and never-ending labyrinths. I merely respond "Well, thank you. I trust you did the same."

She smiles. "That's good. I hear you have been settling in well."

"Ah. I do have some concerns about a minority of the staff…"

"Really?" She cocks her head to one side. The tone is inquisitive rather than unbelieving.

"The two chefs…" I try to choose my words carefully. "One appears modestly lacking in skill, and the other is… free with his emotions… I believe last night he tried to…"

"Ah, those two?" She is relaxed, as if this is a familiar line of conversation. "Did you know they were the ones responsible for S.'s distress? I called them as soon as I discovered their identities."

A horrified expression creeps across my face. "Then not only have you brought her face to face with her tormentors, but you have a confirmed sexual abuser on staff?" I would like to stand up and leave, however politeness requires I cannot.

Dr. Héderváry holds up a hand. "By seeing them in a position subservient to her, S. was able eventually to come to terms with her past. In academic circles we call it 'getting even'."

I wonder exactly which academic circles she has been mixing in. So far I doubt that any of her methods have passed a reputable peer review. "But Francis…"

"He's impotent. He can't do anything worse than make empty threats at present. I'm trying to persuade him back into therapy, but…" She sighs, spreading her hands, as if that gesture will explain it all. "Still, we can talk about _le monsieur effronté_ later. The next hour is Kiku-time, yes?" I can but nod, my face frozen in fear.

She asks me to sign a disclaimer. I assume this is regarding the taping of our sessions, however the document is lengthy and I ask if it would be possible to return it tomorrow. She is thankfully happy with this. I hope there will be a loophole to rescue me from this situation.

"Are you happy sitting? Some people prefer to lie down. I guess they just don't like looking at my face." She laughs, but I can understand how it may be easier to talk personally without holding another's gaze. However, I remain seated, the better to preserve control.

"How should we proceed?" I ask, slightly puzzled, but eager to get this over with.

She's still smiling, friendly and open. "You talk. I listen."

"What should I talk about? Do you wish to hear of my ancestry?"

"Anything you want, Kiku. You don't need to be too personal. We're just having a friendly chat."

I sit for maybe ten minutes, maybe ten hours, trying to think of something necessary to tell this woman. She sits, sipping a coffee, watching a scrap of paper fluttering in the breeze from the air conditioning vent. I envy her patience.

"I… had a friend once." Why this should be momentous enough to deserve vocalisation, I do not know. I just struggled to find words, and out it came. Dr. Héderváry looks at me, encouraging.

"We shared things. Language, culture… We learned from each other. I had been alone for so long, I had forgotten how valuable a good friendship could be." I pause, marshalling my thoughts. The doctor does not interrupt, she just absorbs my words as a soft towel after a long hot bath.

"His name was Heracles. We grew close. He was not demanding, or brash like so many others. He sought nothing but mutual understanding." It grows easier to talk. I realise I miss that feeling, of being able to confide in another without fear. I suppose this is why I carry on.

"I have not seen him lately. I believe I had grown complacent. Perhaps I cut him out of my life as an unnecessary distraction." This cannot be the whole truth. I used to be able to be comfortably silent in his presence, and he in mine.

I remember visiting his house one hot summer. We had gone for a walk amid the ruins of his once-great land. Underestimating the time we had spent, we found ourselves caught out in the afternoon sun, exhausted, sticky and unable to walk any further. We settled down in the shade of a great stone archway, the marble thankfully still cool to the touch. Heracles dozed while I read my guidebook. After resting, I wandered alone through the vast columns, recording for posterity the labours of Heracles' predecessors on my digital camera. Arriving home some weeks later, my most treasured picture was the last, Heracles asleep in the cradle of his ancestors. I still don't know where the cats came from.

I realise I have been silent for some time. Dr. Héderváry prompts. "Was he your first true friend?"

I struggle to remember. Sometimes I feel so old. "There was one other who thought to call me friend. When I was a child, I was raised by a friend of the family. He schooled me, provided me with clothes and food, helped me to grow. One day when I felt strong enough I tried to kill him." I narrate matter-of-factly. I am sure the memory must have been painful for me in the past. Now I feel nothing except the effort of recall.

The doctor doesn't even raise an eyebrow. "Do you know why?"

"I think… because he was older than me, because I resented his superiority. I thought I was entitled to more. I was idealistic enough to believe I could rule the world if I so wished, and practical enough to observe that enemies must be made in the course of such action."

"Do you still feel that way now?" She is taking notes, subtly, behind the desk.

"My outlook has changed. As you yourself note, there is room for many different kinds of people in this world. Thankfully my regrettable actions when young led to little lasting damage."

"Have you spoken to him since?"

"I hope that one day he will forgive me." The words sound hollow to me after all this time.

"I'll take that as a no." She makes another note, then looks up. "Were you afraid you would eventually treat Heracles the same way?"

The thought had not occurred to me, and I tell the doctor so. I don't intend to entertain the possibility.

"Okay. Now, were you sexually intimate with either of these 'friends'?"

"It never happened!" I can't help but blush at her bluntness. I slept beside Heracles once, his breath on my face inducing fevered dreams I chased from my head upon awakening. Would I like to have acted on impulse? I cannot say. Such impulses come rarely to me.

I think Dr. Héderváry knows she has pushed too far. She clicks the top of her pen and puts away the notebook.

"Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Honda-san." I assume the session is over now we are back to the formal address. "I know it can be painful sometimes. If you want to get revenge, find me at lunchtime. Ask me anything. Think up something nice and juicy!" She laughs.

Although I have discovered nothing new about myself, I feel the session has taught me a little about Dr. Héderváry. She relishes human contact and understanding, and genuinely cares about her charges. What she is hoping to achieve is a world where all can be appreciated and celebrated. Equality through acceptance. Sadly we are not all so broad-minded.


	4. Chapter 4

The Cabinet of Dr. Héderváry

**Chapter 4**

Lunch is uneventful. Arthur and Francis are bickering behind trays of crispy, burned potatoes and foul-smelling beef casserole. I select a piece of fruit as the item on the menu least likely to have been spoiled by untalented hands.

Remembering Dr. Héderváry's offer from earlier, I wander round the clinic and grounds in an attempt to locate her. I find our esteemed doctor hiding behind a tree. She is in intent observation mode and my appearance startles her. "Honda-san! What a lovely surprise. Don't mind me, I'm finished here."

She is holding a small camera, which she returns to her jacket pocket. I look around for her object of study. Someone excitable is chasing butterflies on the lawn, idly watched by a serious-looking man over the top of a newspaper. I remember: the blonde security guard. Dr. Héderváry follows my gaze and sighs. "They're so adorable together, aren't they? I wish they'd just hurry up and make out already."

Ah yes. Yong Soo had mentioned the guard was in love with a patient. "Would that not be inappropriate?"

She clucks dismissively. "You can't talk ethics when two people are fated to be together. Seriously, you don't know how long that pair have had the hots for each other. They positively need to just do it and get it out of their system."

"Is that your professional opinion, Doctor?" We start walking around the gardens.

"Elizabeta, please. Professional, personal, it's all the same thing. Why would you do your work any differently to how you live your life?"

I suppose there is a strange kind of logic to that. I am unprepared with a rebuttal and resort to a pre-arranged question. "Does your work derive from the theories of Freud?"

She laughs, long and heartily. "Freud was a dirty Austrian pervert, and I love him for it. Poor dear was desperate to do his mother, of course. You know that game where you name celebrities you'd like to invite round to dinner? Freud's definitely in my top five. I'd love to get him on the couch." There is a small chuckle at her own double entendre.

"Your ex-husband was Austrian, I believe?" I watch the pair on the lawn as the brunette trips, drawing an admonishment from the blonde.

"Roderich? Yes." There is a reluctance to talk, it seems, so I try a more open question.

"How did you meet?" The blonde pulls the brunette to his feet, and is rewarded by a generous hug. He tries, somewhat unconvincingly given his muscular build, to extricate himself before surrendering apparently reluctantly to the other's arms.

"I worked for him. Roderich runs a music therapy unit – you must have heard of the Edelweiss Clinic?" I have, and I nod.

"I did my internship there. Roderich is a brilliant man. He's refined, composed, cultured, everything a girl could want, but he can come across as kind of stuffy, you know? So I spiked his drink at the end of year party."

"You _drugged_ him?" I am incredulous. This is unprofessional, criminal even.

"Just a little schnapps. All he needed was some old-fashioned Dutch courage. I asked him to dance, and well, we were soon doing the horizontal waltz." She winks. I find it disturbing.

"Does he know that he was, ah, under the influence?"

"Of course! He put it down to girlish high spirits." She laughs uproariously at the pun. I giggle nervously. It seems the appropriate response.

The smell of freshly cut grass is soothing. I breathe it in, try to relax in Dr. Héderváry's ebullient presence. I don't place much faith in 'opposites attract', but there is no other phrase to describe her relationship with the eminent Dr. Edelstein. In fact, I find it odd even that she had a husband. She seems so forward, so candid, that I might take her for a man had I not been standing right next to her. I wonder how best to enquire, tactfully, about her orientation.

"Your clinic certainly seems to endorse a liberal attitude to romance." I indicate the butterfly-catchers.

"Honda-san!" She looks at me reprovingly, almost pityingly. "Many have fought hard simply to gain the freedom to love. If we can't be liberal with affairs of the heart, there is no hope left for humanity. We will die, cold and lonely, arguing each other into oblivion. Take that guy." She waves at the blonde. "Before he met Feliciano, he had serious anger management issues. He was a danger to himself and others. Now he's learning restraint, compassion, and I'm proud to have him on my staff."

I'm sure if this was photojournalism, my face would be a picture worth capturing. "A security guard who is 'a danger to himself and others'?"

She dismisses my comment with a chuckle. "Ludwig's a darling now, really. You just have to get to know him. And you've seen the clinic. The guards aren't there to keep the patients from escaping – nobody is desperate to leave. They're there to maintain some contact with the outside world. Most of my staff are ex-patients."

I wonder how the fact that they remain at the clinic, albeit in a different capacity, reflects on Dr. Héderváry's ability as a medical professional. Given her ability to derail my probes, I decide to interview the staff when an opportunity arises. I try to drag the conversation back on topic.

"Did Dr. Edelstein share your views?"

Again a slightly admonitory glance. "He did not. I tried to drag him into the 21st century, but the poor dear was too concerned with process and proof to try anything revolutionary."

"And that was when you started your own treatment centre?"

"We split up over it, as a matter of fact. He thought my place was at his side, or washing dishes, all that traditional crap." There is a moment of contemplation before the front comes back up in all its blustering glory. "He should have known I wasn't like that when I made him wear the dress at our wedding."

"Did you really?"

"Want to see the photos?" There's a glint in her eye I don't entirely like the look of. I decide to excuse myself until dinner, and return to my room.


	5. Chapter 5

The Cabinet of Dr. Héderváry

**Chapter 5**

I hear a muffled knock at the door. I open it. It's Heracles. I am torn between assuming I am hallucinating, or marvelling at the speed with which Dr. Héderváry works. Then I remember "Sleepy", the porter with the messy dark curls and the familiar silhouette…

There's a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but no emotional reunion here. "Doctor's orders," is all he says, with a glance downwards. I follow. Snuggled in the crook of his elbow is a small white cat.

"A cat?" I say, redundantly. He passes me the cat and disappears briefly, to return with food bowls and a litter tray. He installs these in the room and en-suite respectively, leaving me standing uselessly, stroking the cat to keep it calm.

"Doctor's orders," he repeats. "Enjoy your stay."

He goes to leave, and somehow that kicks me out of shock. I put the cat down on the bed and run after him. "Heracles, wait."

He stops, turns. I struggle for words. "Would you… like to stay a moment? If you have no pressing engagements, of course."

He shrugs, ever the great communicator, and walks back into my room. I indicate the chair by the desk, but he sprawls on the bed instead, stroking the cat idly. I make tea with the small plastic kettle thoughtfully provided and some Fair Trade teabags. The cat's purr grows, keeping pace with the boiling of the water. I fuss around with teaspoons until the kettle clicks off, focus on the splash of water into mugs, composing myself.

I hand Heracles a mug and sit demurely on the desk chair. "I had no idea you were working here, Heracles."

"For two years now." His eyes appear so green set against that tanned skin. I watch him over the rim of my mug, sipping it slowly.

"Has it been that long?" I talk before I think. An unnecessary statement. Heracles just nods, a slight smile crossing his face, scratching the cat's head between its ears.

"So, I trust you have been keeping well?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Very well, thank you."

There is a silence hanging heavy between us. We are as strangers, meeting for the first time, left hanging awkwardly after the initial introduction at a party, or two shy colleagues at the water cooler. I don't know what to do. After a few minutes of painful hush, I decide to be bold. I move to the bed, sitting on the opposite side of the cat, join in the petting. It is a very happy cat right now.

"The cat is supposed to be therapeutic?"

"I guess. Doc didn't tell me why." That's a relief, I suppose.

"Did you know I was here?"

"I saw your name in the guestbook, yeah."

"Would you… Would you have come to see me had Dr. Héderváry not ordered it?"

A slight pause. "I'm not sure. Would you have wanted me to?"

I want to tell him yes, oh yes, how much I have missed his company, but all I can do is look away, my initial courage dissipating. He takes my signal the wrong way entirely. "It figures."

I wish I could know what he is feeling, but he is giving nothing away. He seems in no hurry to leave, at least. I try to take that with some optimism.

The cat rubs her head against my hand, trying to drag my attention back. I tickle her under the chin. "What's her name?"

Heracles looks at me, then stares at the cat, deep in thought for a good thirty seconds. "Miss Meow."

It sounds like a brand of cat food. "Ah, so."

We sit there quietly, the cat between us, hoping the silence will adjust from awkward to content. The tea grows cool. I have to break this stand-off somehow, so I ask the burning question.

"Why did we grow apart?"

He shrugs. "You stopped talking to me, and I stopped talking to you."

It's always the simplest common denominator with Heracles. It reminds me of how I used to have to speak to Yao.

"But it's important," I protest. I want to avoid making the same mistake again.

"Is it?" He turns his green eyes on me, expression unreadable as ever.

There's no going back now. I have always found it hard to express my emotions, but in this place everything is acceptable, the dream becomes attainable. "Heracles, I…" I implore him to stop me now, to not make me say it.

He rests one firm hand on my shoulder, and I can feel his presence giving strength to my body, the promise of a relationship renewed. I feel invigorated and I long to remain by his side. "Don't worry." He speaks in stilted Japanese.

I would like to live in Heracles' world, where all life's troubles can be resolved so easily.


End file.
